


Redemption

by Book_addict_89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-29 06:31:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13921377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_addict_89/pseuds/Book_addict_89
Summary: The war was over. The light had won. But it’s what happened afterwards that shaped our hero’s life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something that came to me in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep. I'm not sure where this is going or how long it will be, but it's going somewhere so please stick with me. Let me know what you think?
> 
>  
> 
> I do not own Harry Potter it belongs to J. K. Rowling. I am writing this story for fun and not for profit.

There was a part of Harry that wanted to retreat and hideaway inside Grimmauld Place after the war. There had been to much loss, too much hurt and pain. He couldn’t face the Weasley’s, they’d lost Fredbecause of him. He couldn’t face Hermione who had gone to Australia to find her parents only to find that they had been killed in car crash two months previously. He blamed himself for that too. For two months he holed himself up in his house, not accepting visitors or messages. The only reason he stayed alive was down to the crotchety old house elf who he lived with.

 

On the day of his birthday he refused all visitors, left gifts unopened and replied to no ones messages. That didn’t stop Andromeda Tonks. For a fortnight she hounded him until poor Kreacher caved and let her past. She was a Black descendant after all.

 

She took one look at Harry and ordered Kreacher to pack a bag for Harry and took him back to her own house. “Dora and Remus would never forgive me if I let you live like this Harry. You’ll stay here until you’re better.” Harry hadn’t known he was unwell until she’d said it.

 

The next thing he knew she’d placed a crying baby in his arms and a bottle. “Your godson needs you Harry.” He held the bottle to Teddy’s mouth and he quietly latched on and began drinking the warmed milk. Teddy’s changing shades of blue eyes held onto Harry’s own and for the first time in months he felt something other than emptiness and guilt.

 

From that day onwards he’d been seeing a healer at a specialist clinic in London to help him. It came as no surprise when the healer suggested that Harry was suffering from PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. After all he’d been through it was no surprise really. His healer was helping him repair friendships and connections with the people he loved the most and therefore pushed away to protect himself. On the hard days it was Teddy who brought him round and made him get out of his bed and go to his sessions. There was something about the ever changing features of his godson that made him want to be better, made him want to recover.

 

One of those steps was selling Grimmauld Place. He couldn’t stay there. Kreacher had been horrified to find out his plan and had hated the idea of leaving the house that had been his home for so long but he’d taken a paid position at Hogwarts over being freed.

 

Another step was for Harry to return to school and finish his education. That had taken him some convincing on both Hermione and his healer’s part. To return back to the place where so many of his friends died. To the place he died.

 

But that’s where he found himself on September first. Sitting at a table in the room he’d fought Voldemort in, in the room the dead had been laid out in. He felt sick to his stomach but he didn’t let it show on his face. Instead he sat quietly, clapped when he was supposed to and pushed food around his plant to fool those around him that he was eating. When the headmistress sent everyone to their common rooms except the small class of eighth years he sat quietly and listened, longing for the moment he could lock himself in his room for the night.

 

***

 

“But Professor that means-“

 

“Yes Miss Granger it does. This was the fairest way.” McGonagall explained, “Now off to bed with you all classes start in the morning.”

 

Ron and Harry both looked at Hermione neither understanding her conversation with the headmistress.“Are you going to explain?” Ron shrugged.

 

“We’ve been allocated rooms based on alphabetical order.”

 

“Yeah and?”

 

Hermione exhaled loudly, Ron and Harry could be so dense at times. “Boot and Cornfoot are in room 1. Seamus and Justin are in 2 and Goldstein and Neville are in 3. Which means that,” Hermione paused to take a breath. Only she was beaten to it by the blonde walking past them.

 

“You’re in room 4 with me Potter.”

 

“No fucking way!” Ron swore. Harry didn’t say anything he’d been too busy watching Malfoy walk out of the Great Hall who was quickly followed out by Pansy and Blaize. Malfoy was the next step in his recovery.

 

“It’s not fucking fair. He’s just killed fucking Snake Face and now he has to share a room with Ferret Face! How can McGonagall do this to him?”

 

“Ron!” Hermione hissed through gritted teeth, her eyes flicked in the headmistress’s direction.

 

McGonagall cleared her throat and all eyes turned to face her, Ron’s face went as red as the hair on his head. “I think Mr Weasley, we need to have a chat in my office. I hope Mr Potter that you and Mr Malfoy will be dealing with the situation with maturity?”

 

Harry gave a swift bob of his head, “Yes Professor.”

 

“Good. Now off to bed with you all. Mr Weasley follow me.”

 

The rest of the eighth years exited the Great Hall quickly not wanting to be on the end of a telling off from McGonagall on their first night. Harry didn’t wait around for Hermione he just wanted to go to bed. He didn’t want to talk about the injustice. Injustice was being wrongfully killed before leaving your teens, not having to share a room with someone you didn’t like.

 

***

 

Draco Malfoy didn’t want to be back at Hogwarts. He’d rather be anywhere else. But he wasn’t. He didn’t have a choice. It was his punishment.

 

His father, Lucius Malfoy was currently serving an indefinite sentence at Azkaban for his role during the war and despite a testimony from Potter himself stating that she saved his life, his mother, Narcissa was on house arrest for a year for her involvement. Draco’s own sentence was similar to his mother’s. The Wizengamot decided that his choices were not his own and that of his father and that they saw a chance for redemption. Draco had been ordered to return to school to complete his schooling or face Azkaban himself.

 

So at eleven o’clock this morning he found himself sat in a compartment at the back of the train trying to keep away from everyone else on his way back to Hogwarts. A place that had been haunting his dreams for the longest time. Now he was back he didn't think that this would change.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've written this chapter over and over again and I still don't think I'm happy with it but if I don't post it I never will.

Harry took the stairs two at a time and entered the common room assigned to the twenty or so returning eighth years. A series of classrooms on the sixth floor had been turned into a large inviting common room decorated in a combinations of all four house colours with twelve double rooms with bathrooms coming off the main room. Harry had found the door with his and Malfoy’s name on and let him self in. Their belongings were sat at the bottom of beds draped in crimson and green but Draco was nowhere to be seen.

 

Harry threw himself down on the crimson bed cover, which he presumed was his bed and flung an arm over his face, burying it in the crook of his arm. He didn’t know how he was going to get through a whole year of this. As he sat up the little dinner he had eaten rolled in his stomach making him feel nauseous. It was the start of a series of familiar chain of events, his chest started to feel tight, his breaths came in quick sharp succession. Next his vision blurred and his heartbeat pounded in his ears, the room fading around him.

 

***

 

Hearing what could only be Potter in the other room Draco came out of the bathroom having changed into his black silk pyjamas ready to get into bed and put the day behind him. Only to his shock and surprise he found Potter hunched over on the edge of his bed having some kind of moment. Draco’s feet stuck to the carpet, he couldn’t move. He felt like he was prying on something he shouldn’t be seeing.

 

The saviour of the wizarding world was crumbling in front of him.

 

If this had been a couple of years ago he’d have used this to his advantage. But that was the Draco of the past, he’d changed. At least he was trying to. Right now he knew exactly how Potter was feeling. He’d spent the last two years feeling like that. Draco cleared his throat to alert Potter to his presence but it went ignored. Potter didn’t seem to hear him. Draco moved closer and reached a hand out to touch his shoulder.

 

The next thing he knew he was on his back with Potter on top of him. One hand clasped around his throat, pushing his chin upwards, the other held a wand pushed against his trachea. Potter’s eyes were unfocused, as if he was looking through him.

 

Draco pushed against him, trying to push the other teen off him. “Potter stop! It’s me Draco.” He yelled but with no result.

 

The world around him started to grow darker.

 

His heart pounded in his chest as his eyelids dropped closed.

He couldn’t fight it anymore.

It hurt too much.

It was too hard.

 

 

And then the weight was gone!

 

***

 

Draco snatched lungful after lungful of air trying to recapture his breath, trying to ease the burning in his chest. Only when it stopped did he sit up.

 

“Fucking hell Potter!” Draco wheezed from the floor.

 

For the first time since he’d been pinned down did Draco look at the other wizard. The sight of him in tears, knees drawn up to his chest, wand left untouched on the floor shocked Draco. The teen hero was broken.

 

“Look Potter it’s okay. I get it. Don’t worry about it, I’m not going to tell anyone.”

 

Green eyes looked up from behind round glasses. “Why?”

 

“Because we’re both broken. Because being here brings up- ” Draco shrugged, “stuff, feelings. I don’t know. It’s fucked up. I do know that we’re probably more alike than either of us wants to admit. I’m willing to try and be friends if you are. If not? Well then we’ll just be roommates who don’t interact.” There was no response.

 

Eight years after their first meeting Draco found himself stood in front of Harry Potter his hand out stretched. Only this time he hoped that the raven haired hero wouldn’t reject him again. This year was going to be bad enough without fighting with Potter everyday. But just maybe if he took his hand and they put the past behind them, then maybe, just maybe things might be better.

 

Harry took the pale hand in his and shook firmly, ignoring the warm flutter that flipped his stomach. “I really am sorry Draco. I never meant to hurt you today.”

 

“Just forget it. It’s getting late and we’ve got an early start, we should probably get to bed.” The blonde said with a smile. 

 

Without another word that is just what they did.

 

 

***

 

She’d known that today would be hard. There were less students than there had been in previous years, those missing from current year groups stood out. But the hardest thing was standing in his place, speaking words he should have said. It should have been Albus greeting the room of children, not her. “You’re too hard on yourself Minerva.” Albus said from his portrait. He always seemed to know what was going on before she vocalised her concerns.

 

“I’m still worried about Harry. He’s not himself. Are you sure I’ve done the right thing by doing what his healer suggested and putting him and Mr Malfoy in the same room. They never got on at the best of times, won’t this only exasperate the situation?”

 

“You would think, but I think in this instance he might be right.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled in his painting. “This will be the making of them boys, just you wait.”

 

McGonagall shook her head and gathered her things ready to retire to her private rooms for the evening. “I hope you’re right Albus. I really do.”


End file.
